


Lilitu's Kiss

by fannishliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a problem and only Cas can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lilitu's Kiss

Title: **Lilitu's Kiss**  
Author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss**  
Rating: PG13  
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas  
Spoilers: none (circa s4)  
Warnings: none  
Word Count: 2600  
Summary: Dean has a problem and only Cas can help.

for  [](http://quovadimus83.livejournal.com/profile)[**quovadimus83**](http://quovadimus83.livejournal.com/)   who wanted  "something from the classic!D/C files (S4ish)? like, a case!fic wherein Sam is is snarky & a genius, Dean's brute force gets him into a massively bad situation/wicked hurt, & Cas isn't too keen on being at the Winchesters' beck & call... but he shows up anyway & is shocked to find out just how upset Dean's current state makes him feel. & then they smooch or something"  :D

===

"Dean," Sam said over pancakes. His jaw was twitching and he was pre-emptively redfaced.

"Yeah," Dean said, sloe-eyed. He took a big slurp off his coffee, and sighed as he felt the caffeine hit his system.  It had been a little bit of a bumpy night.  

"Dean, I think, we may have a problem," Sam said into the maple-y mush he was making with his fork.

A problem? Ordinary folks had a problem.  Winchesters took the word to a new level of fubar.  "Dude, take pity on those pancakes and look me in the eye," Dean said.

"I think, um, um.... did you hear the wind last night?" Sam said, leaning forward.

"Yeah," Dean said, eyebrows raised.  He stuffed another sausage into his mouth.  

"Did you hear it, um, say anything?" Sam asked.  Dean didn't think his face could have gotten any redder, but it did.

"You mean, like, whispers of sweet nothings?" Dean offered.

"Yes!  God, Dean, I was afraid it was just me!" Sam said, with a sigh of relief.

"It was just you," Dean said flatly.  "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Sam's mouth went thin and tight, and even his nostrils pinched together.

"Dean.  Be serious.  I think there are lilitu after us."

Dean leaned back, laughing. "After you, maybe, prude! I got nothing to worry about."  He knew he was full of shit.  He hadn't touched a woman since Anna, and look how well that had gone.  And whatever Sam was up to with Ruby?  He would've thought that would have thrown the lilitu off of Sam's trail.

"Yes, you do, Dean," Sam said, red again.   

"Why do you say that, Sam?" Dean smarmed, blustering.  

"Well, I kind, of maybe, heard you last night," he muttered.

"Heard me," Dean said, leaning forward, a big chunk of sausage forgotten on his fork.  

—smiling, whispering— fire and wind — sweet sighs and laughter — caresses interrupted by a sharp pinch to the thigh —

"I heard you moaning — and I heard the wind whispering," Sam said, his voice so low Dean could barely hear it.

"Dude, you're banging a demon! and I can't have a little harmless fun?" Dean hissed.

"Dean!" Sam whined.  His eyes had gone all big and soft like Dean had struck a low blow.  "Ruby and I have a deal — just so I can get strong enough to kill Lilith.  Besides the lilitu aren't harmless."

"I take it you've, heheh, boned up on the subject?" Dean asked, showing his teeth.

"Can you be a little less thirteen years old about this, Dean?" Sam hissed.

"Can you be a little less prissy?  Just spell it out, sister!" Dean said.

"Fine," he huffed.  "Lilitu are spirits.  They're not ghosts, they're not demons — they don't actually work for the demon Lilith even though they have the same name — as far as I can tell they're related to the Fair Folk."

Dean nearly strangled as he tried to deal with the swig of coffee he was in the middle of swallowing.  

"Fairies? Sam? Are you freaking serious?" Dean laughed.  Low-level demons he could've handled.  

"You have to invite them, or they can't touch you," Sam said.

"So?  End of story.  We don't invite them," Dean said.

"You already invited them Dean — last night," Sam said.

"What?" Dean said, his heart sinking.  

—how beautiful you are, your body so smooth and unmarked — the angel's grace still tingling in your nerves — your moans so sweetly seasoned by years of screaming in the pit — let us in Dean — oh yes, sweet boy — let us in! --

"You said yes last night Dean.  Over and over.  And over," Sam muttered, crimson.

—yes! yes! oh god, thank you, thank you, jesus, it feels so good! —

— those names sting us, darling — call us Delilulaika —

—Di, Di-lee —

—Delilulaika, darling, now say yes again and let us in —

—yes, yes yes, sweet baby Je — Delilulaika! —

"Uh, Sam?" Dean said, and he felt his face going red as his brother's.  

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam said wearily.

"I think it's coming back to me now?" Dean said, shamefacedly.

"That's good, I guess — as long as you don't start screaming the names of hot fairy sisters in this diner, like you did last night," Sam muttered.

"Dude, I banged fairy twins," Dean said, brightening.  "Silver lining."

"No, Dean, they banged you," Sam said.  "And unless we can keep them away from you tonight, and tomorrow night, they'll whisk you away."

"Away?" Dean said, his heart going dark.

"Not to hell, Dean — but who knows what their part of Faerie is like?  The Borderlands."

The two of them sat for a moment, recalling the misty lore of the twilight realm, where the imagination of the Fair Folk was the only law.  

"So, like, I end up as somebody's bitch — literally?" Dean asked, glumly.

"Licking for crumbs under the table, Dean, for eternity," Sam sighed. "Even Castiel couldn't pull you back from that one.  No jurisdiction," he said.

"Cas," Dean said, but the name rang down his veins and shook him like a fever.

"Let's go back to the room before we call him," Sam said.  "It's not cool when he appears out of thin air."

"Who said we were calling him?" Dean said, frowning.  "We can get ourselves out of this, easy."

Sam just stared at him.

"Easy?" Dean repeated, a little less confidently.

"You sang like a bird last night, Dean.  Their hooks are well and truly in," Sam said.

"Good times," Dean said weakly, finished his coffee, and slapped down a twenty for a good breakfast gone awry.

Sam did some googling and then they did some shopping.  The town they were in was non-descript, just another midsize midwestern berg, but it had enough of a hippie enclave to provide Sam with all the crystals and herbs he needed for repelling the lilitu.

"Twins, man," Dean pled his case.

"Fairies," Sam responded.

"They were changing shapes — hot — smooth — they were all around me! How was I supposed to know it wasn't a dream!" Dean complained.  A really good dream.  

"If it's too good to be true," Sam grumbled darkly.  

"Argh," Dean moaned.  Already he was craving the night, the cool sheets.  The fever was building for the fair sisters' return, the cool and fiery touch of their soothing hands, their soft, suckling mouths, the silk of their hair —

"Dean! If you could at least stop mumbling their names?"

"Aw, crap, Sam.  I'm screwed," Dean complained, helplessly.

Sam finished the rune circle he'd been inscribing around Dean's bed and stood up.  He fished a roll of duct tape out of his duffel, and tore off a piece.  Before Dean could guess what he was up to, he had it plastered across Dean's mouth.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam smirked.

"Ymph uhjumphn thumph."

"Maybe a little," Sam grinned, finishing up with the placement of crystals to the eight directions, and scattering some sweet smelling herbs.  

When Dean came back from the bathroom, Sam had lit a bundle of sage and was smudging the room.   Sam shooed him onto the bed, where he sat crosslegged as Sam began to endlessly chime a pair of Tibetan bells, setting Dean's teeth on edge.  

When the air was dense with smoke and Sam considered the bells to be well rung, he asked Dean to call Castiel, but Dean couldn't do it.  His throat seized on the name, and his thoughts were still swimming with the dreams of the night before, that had returned full force as soon as the sun sank beneath the horizon.  

Distantly he felt Sam tie him to the bed, cooling his forehead with a damp cloth as he called for the lilitu from behind the duct tape, as his brother rang the little bells and blessed him with holy words that now made both of them cringe.  

Sunrise found the brothers exhausted but somehow Sam had kept his defenses from breaking.  Dean had not been touched, despite the whipping of the wind rattling the motel room windows, the eerie howling that seemed to call their names.

"You have to call Cas," Sam said.  Dean hadn't had any stomach for food, so they'd gone to a little coffee shop.

"I can't," Dean said. The name stuck in his throat.  He couldn't even think it properly.  The blue eyes of his friend were a distant memory, the sad turn of those righteous lips...

"Wait til noon," Sam said, watching him closely. "The lilitu will be weaker, even though it's still so close to the winter solstice. And maybe, you know, some more holly..."

"Did you mention the solstice?" their waittress asked, smiling.

"Uh, yes," Sam answered, pleasantly.  Dean kept his face averted, sure that "fairy sisters' slut" was written all over his forehead.  

"There's a holly circle at St. Margaret's Episcopal, over on Water Street," the waitress said.  "They have a Chartres labyrinth too, for meditation." Leaning in conspiratorially, she added, "Their congregation is very welcoming."

"God," Dean groaned.  "We're brothers."  He gave her a red-eyed glare.  

"I can see that," she said, archly. "I just assumed you were neo-pagan traditionalists."

She strode away after topping them up and Sam said, "You're tipping her double."

"Why me," Dean said.

"Because you suck," Sam replied.

The pastries at the little cafe were delicious and as noon neared Dean was able to finish half a raspberry croissant and felt a little more like a real human.

St. Margaret's was a small, well-kept church with lovely, manicured grounds. Sam and Dean passed the labyrinth, where  two middle aged women were walking, fingering beads in prayer.  They didn't look up as the brothers made for the holly circle, in a part of the meditation garden closer to the cemetery.  

There were four large hollies and four smaller ones making up the circle, with a small fountain in the middle and four stone benches.  

Sam checked his watch.  

"Noon," he said.  "Now or never."

Dean cleared his throat.  "Sorry, Cas, I need you," he rasped.  The name of his friend seared his throat but at least Dean could picture the earnest, sympathetic stare, the chapped lips and tousled hair of the Angel's vessel.

The air vibrated and with a thrum the Angel appeared.  

"Sam, Dean.  Ugh, Dean. You reek," the Angel said, his nose wrinkling as he leaned away in distaste.

Sam turned away, laughing. "Abomination maybe, but at least I don't reek," he muttered.

"What have you been sleeping with now, Dean?" the Angel scowled, his voice even harsher than usual.

"I didn't know, all right? I swear!"  Dean whined.  

"Can you help him, Cas? He's been inhabited by two lilitu," Sam explained.

"It was an accident!" Dean protested shrilly.

"Sam, could you give us a moment?" Castiel requested.  

"Sure, Cas, whatever you need," Sam said, and he strolled off towards the obelisks in the older section of the cemetery.  

"Dean," Castiel sighed.

"I'm sorry!" Dean said.  

"It was my fault.  The lilitu smelled my grace in you.  It drew them.  I should have warned you of that possibility, but to be honest, it didn't occur to me." The gravelly voice of his friend washed over Dean, giving him blessed relief from the flushes and chills caused by his desire for the lilitu that had inhabited him.

"Can you help me, Cas?" Dean pled. "I don't want to be a bitch."

"That depends," Castiel said, ignoring Dean's fears.  

"On what? Am I too far gone?" Dean asked.  

"I can draw out the poison from these fey parasites," Castiel said.  "But it's very dangerous for you and you will suffer greatly unless I cushion your system with more of my grace."

"Don't worry, Cas," Dean said. "I can take it."

"I'm not worried about hurting you, Dean," Castiel frowned.  "Something else entirely.  You already bear my mark and traces of my grace.  If I give you any more of my grace now, our bond will deepen considerably."

Dean flushed.  His bond with Cas made him a little bit uncomfortable.  He liked to dismiss Cas as a nerd or a feathery little guy, but his soul bore the brand of the Angel's searing touch, and it recalled the Angel's strength and power and infinite love, and being wrapped in strong arms and pulled up from the Pit.  He didn't consciously remember being rescued from Perdition — but his soul stirred within him when Castiel appeared, flooding him with gratitude approaching worshipfulness.  

"I don't have a choice, Cas," Dean said.  "These lilitu have their hooks in me.  One more night and I'm done for."

"There is a choice," Castiel said.  "I could draw the lilitu's poison without sharing my grace.  You would survive, and our bond would not deepen."

Dean glanced at the Angel's calm visage. The blue stare seemed infinitely compassionate.  Castiel was a warrior— he could be terrifying, or cold, and if he had orders from heaven, he was implacable. But at his core, he was a true Angel of the Lord, and he was literally made of holy love. Dean had been purged through and through by that love, embraced and fully known — but despite his shame at his own filth and degradation, Dean wanted more of it so very much.

"If, if it's okay, Cas," Dean whispered, "if it's okay with you, I — I'd take the grace."

Castiel tilted his head and stared at Dean until Dean dared to look up.

The Angel did not smile.  Dean did not look away.

"You should not feel so unworthy.  You are a righteous man, Dean."

"I don't believe that," Dean said.

"Few righteous men do," the Angel snarked.  

They stared at each other.  

"I love you, Dean," the Angel said, and before Dean could react, Castiel's lips were upon his, the Angel's hands were gripping his shoulders, and he was transfixed.

Castiel breathed him in, and he felt his soul rushing toward the source of bliss that was the Angel's grace. The fey poison burned away without a trace, and the Angel's grace rushed in to fill the empty places it had carved in Dean's body and mind.

The grace soothed and burned and Dean felt himself wracked by a kind of holy ecstasy.  The touch of the lilitu was sordid and cheap in comparison with the clean and limitless mercy of Castiel's grace.

Make me your own, forever, Dean found himself wishing.

Not my will, but my Father's be done, Castiel's reply rang clearly in Dean's mind. Though I would have you, Dean, if I could.

Dean came back to himself a little as the grace did its work.  Tenderly Castiel was stroking his neck as he lay against the slight vessel's chest. Castiel was kissing him, and Dean didn't ever want him to stop.  

"Ahem, ahem," Sam coughed, awkwardly.

Dean reluctantly pulled back.  He knew how dazed he must look.  Every cell in his body yearned for Cas.  

"Don't go," he whispered.

"I must," Cas said, and without another word, he was gone.

Dean touched his mouth.  

"You want some tongs for that hot coal?" Sam asked.

"What?" Dean asked, baffled.

"Nothing, man.  You look a lot better.  A little, um, flushed, but you'll live, right?"

"Right," Dean said, staggering to his feet.  He felt a little dizzy, but strong, ready.  The dizziness would clear.  

But Dean's longing for Castiel did not fade as Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder and the brothers walked back to the Impala.  

And it didn't fade that night, when Dean at last broke down and cried out for Castiel at 3 am.

The Angel didn't come.    
   
  



End file.
